le would have respected you. Our mother
would have wept over me, as a defunct angel, instead of being angry
with me for again supplanting her favourite--you are her favourite, you
deserve to be her favourite: everybody's favourite: only, if I had not
come back, your favourite, Maria, would have insisted on marrying you;
and that is how the gods would have revenged themselves upon you for
your prosperity."

"I never know whether you are laughing at me or yourself, George" says
the brother. I never know whether you are serious or jesting.

"Precisely my own case, Harry, my dear!" says George.

"But this I know, that there never was a better brother in the world;
and never better people than the Lamberts."

"Never was truer word said!" cries George, taking his brother's hand.

"And if I'm unhappy, 'tis not your fault--nor their fault--nor perhaps
mine, George," continues the younger. 'Tis fate, you see, 'tis the
having nothing to do. I must work; and how, George? that is the
question."

"We will see what our mother says. We must wait till we hear from her,"
says George.

"I say, George! Do you know, I don't think I should much like going back
to Virginia?" says Harry, in a low, alarmed voice.

"What! in love with one of the lasses here?"

"Love 'em like sisters--with all my heart, of course, dearest, best
girls! but, having come out of that business, thanks to you, I don't
want to go back, you know. No! no! It is not for that I fancy staying
in Europe better than going home. But, you see, I don't fancy hunting,
duck-shooting, tobacco-planting, whist-playing, and going to sermon,
over and over and over again, for all my life, George. And what else is
there to do at home? What on earth is there for me to do at all, I say?
That's what makes me miserable. It would not matter for you to be a
younger son you are so clever you would make your way anywhere; but,
for a poor fellow like me, what chance is there? Until I do something,
George, I shall be miserable, that's what I shall!"

"Have I not always said so? Art thou not coming round to my opinion?"

"What opinion, George? You know pretty much whatever you think, I think,
George!" says the dutiful junior.

"That Florac had best have left the Indian to take my scalp, my dear!"

At which Harry bursts away with an angry exclamation; and they continue
to puff their pipes in friendly union.

They lived together, each going his own gait; and not much intercourse,
sav